


The Addict

by witchway



Series: The Perils Of Dating Tony Stark [4]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: College Student Peter Parker, Feels, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Sex Addiction, M/M, Oral Sex, So Many Damn Feels, Tony Stark Feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-19
Updated: 2019-11-17
Packaged: 2020-12-23 22:07:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21088565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/witchway/pseuds/witchway
Summary: This is dedicated to ALL the Starker addicts everywhere.Whether you read it or write it or draw it, there will never be enough.





	1. Bringing The Supplies

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of the series The Perils Of Dating Tony Stark
> 
> This 3-day weekend is a DIRECT result of Peter demanding Tony "be nice to him too."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He was a superhero, that’s what he was. That’s why he was able to juggle college, making the little guy safe in his city AND taking care of Tony Stark’s current….issues. 
> 
> He was The Spider-Man. 
> 
> Unless, of course, you were Tony Stark. 
> 
> In which case he was The Underoos.

**What ya doin’ pretty baby?**

**Same thing I’m always doing.**

**Letting those pretty college boys suck your sweet cock?**

**Nope. Particle physics. **

**I can part your physics. ; )**

**That made no sense Tony.**

**What do you expect from me? I need my fix.**

**It’s noon, Tony.**

**You going to swing by here and take care of me Babyboy?**

**I’ll be there by 6:00. Later if patrolling turns up anything.**

**Not too much later. Crime can wait.**

**Crime doesn’t, oh nevermind.**

**Have pity on the addict sweetmeat.**

**I always do.**

When school was out Peter headed to his single dormroom and carefully packed his bag. He checked twice to make sure he had everything he needed. Probably Tony wouldn’t nag him about it this time, but he might. He wanted to be able to say he had checked it twice. He wouldn’t want to show up to the ‘addict’ in Stark Tower missing something.

The backpack Tony had created for Spiderman fit securely behind him and didn’t impede his flight through NYC at all. Still, he stowed it on the rooftop of a building nearby – it didn’t feel right for Spiderman to be toting the backpack full of _those_ supplies while fighting crime.

Nor did it feel right to be brushing off texts from Tony while fighting crime, so he left the phone behind.

After hours of a boring patrol Peter went back to fetch the supplies before heading toward the Tower. Sure enough his phone was full to bursting.

**You swinging around NYC giving everyone a good view of that fine ass?**

Typical. He let that one stay unanswered – sometimes he enjoyed engaging in this kind of banter as he sat though boring lectures. He might reply next week during Foundations.

**I’m getting the shakes Babyboy**

Also typical. Standard Tony exaggeration and hyperbole.

**I’m counting the minutes Little Petie.**

**Daddy misses you Babyboy.**

**Come to me, your cock is calling my name**

Etc. etc. etc. Peter deleted the repetitive ones, but saved the hot ones. Sometimes he actually enjoyed reading them, especially late at night.

He only answered one.

**I’m not nagging you but check your bag and make sure you have everything.**

**Checked it thrice. I’ve got everything. **

**I’m on my way now unless something crashes or explodes.**

**Just hang on until then – you can make it.**

Peter typed in the last line with an exasperated sigh and a slight maternal feeling. He reacted to _all_ Tony’s neediness with an exasperated sigh and a slight maternal feeling. He realized, more than once, that Tony **_really was_** an addict, and that made him a…..what? A pusher? An enabler? 

No.

He was a superhero, that’s what he was. That’s why he was able to juggle college, making the little guy safe in his city **_and_** take care of Tony Stark’s current….issues. 

He was **_The Spider-Man_**. 

Unless, of course, you were Tony Stark. 

In which case he was **_The Underoos_**. 

He _could_ do it all.

He mentally calculated the distance between Stark Tower and his position. He didn’t want to text the next statement unless he was _sure_ – waiting, going without, made Tony tense and irritable. But the city was quiet today. If he left now he’d be at the Tower in 20 minutes.

**On my way. Just hang on.**

He headed out.

And, naturally, something crashed and exploded.

Two cars collided and then proceeded to make an unfortunate hookup with a truck on tires so big they should have been illegal. Spider-Man made an appearance – he lifted the truck off the other two (from a distance, he didn’t like being seen in uniform with this backpack – or rather his spiderpack – he didn’t enjoy the idea of NYC speculating what Spider-Man needed to be toting around town on his way to Stark Tower) to the cheers of the crowd.

Getting car number 1 off car number 2 wasn’t as easy, perched on the building as he was, but he made it work. He would have left then – Tony was waiting – but frantic spectators were waving him down now. Reluctantly he walked farther down the building to hear what they were saying – he didn’t have _time_ for selfies now! – only to realize there was a woman trapped in the car unable to exit through the crushed doors. 

Dammit, the spiderpack was going to have to make an appearance.

It was very hard to tear away, afterward. The crowd was going crazy, chanting his name, singing his theme song. Even more heartwarming was the swarm of civilians rushing in to help the woman out of the newly-split-open car. (Peter loved it when the were inspired to help each other, just because he was there.) It was _very_ difficult not to stop waving to the crowd, do a few flips (and hell, maybe pose for a few pics. He was only human after all.)

But even that didn’t delay him more than a few minutes. He swung away, one hand patting his spiderbag, reassuring himself he had everything.

The addict was waiting.

Landing on the suitpad at Stark Tower, Peter couldn’t help throwing in a quadruple flip before going into his Superhero Landing (very impractical but oh so sexy.) He couldn’t help but show off a little bit just in case Tony was around.

He disengaged his mask and then his bag, tossing it onto the first flat surface he encountered inside. 

Tony was standing there to meet him, of course. As the man approached Peter stopped and turned off his suit, letting it go baggy around him, allowing it to fall. He stepped out of it, clad only in his boxers, and into Tony’s arms.

“Do you have what I need?” Tony said before kissing him (and part of Peter’s brain registered, **_even as it tried to ignore_**, the desperation in the older man’s voice. There was a larger issue here, a longer conversation, that needed to be had. Maybe, someday, Peter would get up the nerve to have it.)

“It’s all there,” Peter said, pulling away long enough to nod toward his backpack before he kissed Tony again.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

_Tony said nothing else before taking Peter by the hand and leading him to the wall. The truth was, he was afraid to say anything – afraid he would say the wrong thing and that would piss Peter off and there would be an argument. _

_He was afraid _most_ of the time, to be honest. Generally he dealt with that fear through _ _lewdness, dirty jokes and straight up raunchiness. _ _When the kid was laughing the kid wasn’t pissed (unless he was. It was really hard to make jokes around Peter’s generation.) And when the kid was sparing with him, matching him point for point, he wasn’t pissed. And when the kid was blushing….well….then he was just gorgeous._

_But it was a double-edged sword (a double edged sword?? Fuck it was a sword with a blade in the handle, it sliced him up every time he used it.) The words he used to protect himself and hide his fear were the same words that pissed the kid off and made things tense._

_That’s why, when he was desperate like this, he didn’t talk at all._

_There was a larger issue here, a longer conversation that needed to be had. Maybe, someday, Tony would feel safe enough to have it._

_“Is it all there?” he whispered against the boy’s mouth, hoping it would sound romantic, fully aware that it probably sounded ridiculous given that he had already asked the same question several times today. “Do you have everything?”_

_“Hu? Uh….yeah….” Peter managed, blinking, breathless. That should have been a turn on, knowing the boy was breathless with anticipation, and if he had a clearer head he would have congratulated himself. Instead he just panted “Are you sure? It doesn’t look like everything.”_

_ * * * * * * * * * * * * *_

“To**_ny_**,” the boy moaned. I keep telling you.

“**_All my textbooks are digital_**. The only _book_ in there is this old art book I checked out of the library to finish the Art Appreciation thing – it’s some stupid-easy report about Da Vinci. The prof is old fashioned and insisted we have at least _one_ physical book in our bibliography. It will take an hour, tops. My textbooks for Complex Variables and Differential Equations are all online…”

Tony moaned and placed his mouth directly on Peter’s ear. “Ooooh….tell me about your _math homework_, baby,” he breathed between kissing and nibbling. “It turns me on…..”

“_Everything_ turns you on, you moron” Peter giggled.

“So, just homework for three classes? That’s not much for a three day weekend.” 

“_Four_ classes, there’s this dumb Foundations of Math think I have to do for my study team…” Peter tried to explain, but quickly found himself getting distracted when Tony kissed him on the mouth again.


	2. Study Your Script

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The vid Tony had helpfully provided was about one man on his knees and two men standing up. Peter blanched at the things the two men had chosen to say to the third (and dammit how was it that Tony, so damn quiet in bed, liked videos where the men talked constantly? Not that Peter wanted Tony to talk like that but the irony was killing him.)

\--------------------

_ Tony sighed in relief. _

_ (And yet he didn’t feel relieved. Why didn’t he feel relieved? The boy was staying with him for _ ** _3 straight days_ ** _ , he had brought everything he needed with him. They could lock the doors of the Stark Tower penthouse, turn off all communication devices and not leave for 36 hours, breaking only for food and homework. That was good. So why was Tony’s body still quivering with tension?) _

_ “Because there is never enough,” a calm, logical voice in the back of his vibrating brain reminded him. _

_ For a while there were never enough women. _

_ Then there was never enough booze. _

_ For 3 solid years there was never enough illicit substances. Then for and handful of blessed, blissful years there was never enough upgrades to the suits. And now? There will never be enough Peter. Get down on your knees and suck him off 4 times a day for the next 3 days, when he leaves, you’ll still need it. Until the day you say the thing that pisses him off forever and he’ll leave and never come back and leave you cold. First you will suffer. Then you’ll get over him. That’s how it works.” _

_ “But I can spend the next 3 days taking care of him too,” Tony argued as best he could. “I can give him what he wants in exchange. Store up the good to balance out the shitty. And then he’ll stay with me…..”) _

_ This was an ugly conversation, and a terrifying one, and Tony didn’t want to be having it. Fortunately Peter was stroking both sides of his head and putting an unnaturally strong hand on one shoulder and that was _ ** _good_ ** _ . _

_ That meant he wouldn’t have to think anymore. _

_ * * * * * * * * * * * _

Peter didn’t _ have _ to put on hand on Tony’s shoulder and force him to his knees – oh no – Tony was usually already on his knees by now, but he seemed to be waiting for something.

Peter gladly obliged.

Tony groaned when Peter forced him down and Peter grinned, the same stupid grin he got when he got a hard math equation right. He was getting _ good _ at this, getting good at doing the things Tony liked. 

“Do you want this, Tony?” he said quietly, keeping the bulge in his boxers just an inch away from Tony’s face. “Uh uh uh…..not yet, I didn’t say you could do that yet.” He put both hands on Tony’s face and caressed him gently, loving the way Tony’s eyes fluttered closed at the touch. These were _ nice _ moments, these few seconds he could stall before letting Tony at the source of his addiction. Tony always came in two extremes: rambunctious and obscene or naked in bed, completely silent. Peter was enjoying this moment - tender, and still talking.

“Do you want this, Tony?” Peter whispered, stroking the man’s half-open mouth.

“Yes.”

“Have you been thinking about me?”

Tony swallowed hard, and nodded.

“What have you been thinking about?”

“Getting your sweet cock into my mouth, taking it down to the root, sucking you down my throat and swallowing your come…..” Tony murmured, and Peter had to stifle a moan. When Tony was dressed his constant crass commentary often annoyed and occasionally scandalized (and more than once infuriated him) but sometimes the man could say just the right thing that made his entire body light up.

Unfortunately, he couldn’t always return the favor. Obscene words were hard to form his mouth around.

So he made up for it by asking questions.

“Why would you want to do that, Tony?”

“Because I know it will make you feel good.”

Peter moaned and pulled Tony’s head against him, rubbing his clothed erection into Tony’s face. He combed his fingers through Tony’s hair (these were the only times he was allowed to play with Tony’s hair) and racked his brain to think of what he could make Tony do before his cock wound up in the expert mouth and he forgot his own name.

Make Tony suck his fingers? Make Tony describe to him what was going to come next? (Oh good god no, he’d come on the spot. Even when Tony was being infuriating his voice made Peter’s knees weak.)

Finally he decided all he had to do was _ play with Tony’s hair _, which he did, and he enjoyed it. 

“I got the present you sent me, the vid,” he said, killing time. Cruel Tony, having such _ beautiful _hair and never letting Peter play with it. “It was…...different.”

Embarrassed, he looked away. Tony took advantage and nuzzled forward, just a bit, stroking Peter through the fabric of his boxers, which Peter allowed. 

“Not exactly what I wanted to open up right before class, but I covered. I watched it last night…(_ eventually _, he said mentally. It took all night to watch, in fact. He could only watch it in pieces, punctuated by long boring readings from his Fundamentals textbook. But he got through the whole thing, dammit.) “I studied it. I came prepared…..oh gosh that feels good Tony….” 

Tony (now taking Peter’s caresses for what they were, caresses instead of guidance) had moved in close and was now mouthing the length of Peter’s shaft and, when Peter didn’t stop him, had used his tongue to wet the fabric and was now stroking him through that. Peter moaned wordlessly even as he calculated how much time had passed since Tony had first gotten onto his knees. Peter knew, from experience, that if he came too quickly the man would be back for more _ far _ too soon - within a half hour even. But _ lasting _ in Tony’s mouth, (even if he had literally taken care of himself an hour before!) was a challenge entirely in itself. Thus the point of his experiment – if he could keep Tony down on his knees before the actual sucking proper began, would that count? Peter had put a lot of thought into it. He was grateful he had the entire three day weekend to perfect his technique. 

And gosh, he knew (from that lovely little inappropriate present he found on his cell phone) Tony enjoyed the dirty talk.

So it was time to start talking.

He might not be able to say everything Tony _ wanted him _ to say. No matter how many pep talks he gave himself, no matter how many “Come On Spider-Man”s he repeated to himself (even as he was walking through the door!) stage fright was taking over and he was realizing this might just be a lost cause. Peter had blanched at the vid Tony had helpfully provided was about one man on his knees and two men standing up. The things the two men had chosen to say to the third (and dammit how was it that Tony, **so damn _silent _**in bed, liked videos where the men talked _constantly_? Not that Peter wanted Tony to talk ** _ like that_ ** but the irony was killing him.) Actually say those things – well – he’d do well if he could get out ** _half _ **of those things.

But he _ was _ a lot stronger than Tony, which meant **that ** part of the video he could replicate. Well not all of it, but he _ could _move the man anywhere he wanted to, even with just one hand. It wasn’t bad, being Enhanced. 

Still, dirty words were, apparently, Tony’s kink, so he tried his level best. He took a deep breath.

“Do you want…..” He swallowed hard. “Do you want to suck my cock, Tony?” 

Tony moaned and nodded against Peter’s erection. 

Using his one hand on Tony’s shoulder, he forced the man away (and reveled in the tiny noise Tony made, the caught breath. He remembered that.) He traced a finger over Tony’s meticulously plucked beard, then down to his mouth, where he gently let one finger trace the parted lips, then pushed inside.

He wasn’t trying to be sexy. He was just trying to get enough oxygen to say something hot.

“Do you want to feel me touch the back of your throat?” Peter said, (dammit why couldn’t he talk in a normal voice, instead of halting whispers?)

“Yes,” Tony whispered. He was trying to mouth Peter’s fingers now and Peter couldn’t resist. He took his hand off Tony’s shoulder and gave him two fingers on his right hand. Not enough of them, apparently. It took Tony seconds to expertly pull them into his mouth up to the third knuckle, then he began to suck vigorously. Peter had to look away again with a moan.

Still, it gave him an idea.

“Do you want to take it all the way down?” he said, moving his fingers inside Tony’s mouth.

“Do you want to take it down ‘till you’re pushing your nose against my body, showing me just how talented that mouth is?”

Another moan and nod. This wasn’t so hard, talking like _ this _, as long as he kept to simple descriptions of things Tony had already done. 

“Do you want me to come down the back of your throat?”

It was hard to understand Tony’s affirmative, given the man had his mouth full, so Peter removed his fingers.

“Do you want that Tony?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?” Peter tried to tip Tony’s face up to see him, but those two fingers were wet, so he used his other hand.

Those whiskey eyes looked up at him through long, dark lashes and, for a moment, Peter faltered. “Don’t you want me to come on your tongue,” he asked, so much more gently than he had intended.

“.... so you can taste it better? You said you like the way I taste.”

“I’ll still taste you.”

“What do I taste like, Tony?” Peter whispered, tapping Tony’s mouth with one finger, which made Tony’s eyes flutter closed.

“….like starlight.”

And with that Peter groaned, gave in, and let Tony have his way.

  


* * * * * * * * * * * * *

_Peter’s impossibly strong hand on his shoulder forcing him to his knees was the stuff dreams were made of. The kinds of dreams you denied having (and changed your sheets after) in the morning. And when Peter _kept him there_ and started asking questions? Arousing and terrifying._

_ Terrifying because the only way to be SURE he didn’t make the boy angry was to say nothing at all. Even more terrifying because when Peter started asking question he found himself helpless _ _to do anything but tell the truth. (Fortunately Peter wasn’t asking him anything he didn’t already know.) _

_ After that things only got better. Peter had never taken this much control of the sex before now, and he was doing a marvelous job of it. He seemed nervous, and kept mentioning a video that seemed to be important. Tony never even considered asking. He could ask question no more than he could give compliments or encouragement. He was terrified to open his mouth. Gods knew WHAT would come out. _

_ And his mouth was aching. _

_ Peter’s fingers were nothing as good as sucking Peter’s cock, obviously, and the boy hardly put his fingers in his mouth at all. But Tony worked his tongue, drawing those long slender fingers deeper, If he pressed up with his tongue and swallowed at the same time, it was almost as if Peter were pressing down on his tongue, forcing his fingers in more roughly than he was. _

_ (And then he _ WAS _ pressing down, at least he was wiggling his fingers which meant they pressed down on his tongue for precious seconds, and for those precious seconds Tony’s knees went weak.) _

_ Tony gave a quiet moan as he was **finally ** allowed to have Peter in his mouth. He wrapped his lips just behind the head and let his tongue circle the ridge. He teased himself just a little bit with the difference in textures between the smooth skin of the head and the ridge. But he could never tease himself as much as he _ wanted _because_ _he _ needed _ something else. He wanted to taste and he knew just the right places to play his tongue across that made Peter shudder and brought that first drop of precome. He started to move and take more of Peter into his mouth, a little bit more each time he sucked. Eventually his mouth was filled and he felt Peter press against the back of it. He hadn’t had a gag reflex for years, but there was a tightness that came when he’d take Peter past that point into his throat. He liked feeling that tightness prodded. But either Peter would be too close and push in farther, or he would get impatient, even though it was something he wanted, and swallow Peter down. It was easier when his hand circled the boy’s shaft to control the depth of entry. _

_ He could practice self-control. _

_ At least for a few seconds. _


	3. Remembering Your Lines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ".....in this place, in this moment, Peter knew he was seeing something the world never got to see. He wondered if anyone else got to see it. Anyone at all.
> 
> He decided he was an idiot, this was Tony Stark we were talking about, and tried his level best to say his lines."

“Hands to yourself!” Peter called out, far more harshly that he meant to, trying desperately not to come right away. Tony response instantly with a long, anguished moan, jerking his hands down to his sides and holding them there stiffly, hands fisted. Another Tony-reaction. Peter was keeping notes.

But keeping Tony from using his hands wasn’t helping, his mouth was _ really _ that good, so Peter pulled him off by the hair and stood apart from him, panting, eyes closed.

When he dared open his eyes again in the silent room he saw Tony, eyes closed, mouth hanging open, panting as well. He was overwhelmed with emotion in that moment, overwhelmed with how much he _ wanted _ to make this man happy, and suddenly he was _ desperate _ to say the things Tony wanted to hear.

So, with another deep breath, he tried again.

Stepping forward slowly, cupping Tony’s face with both hands, and as Tony took him down again he began to speak.

“Your mouth is going to be so good for me, _ you’re _ going to be so good for me. You’re so damn good at this, Tony, I don’t know how you learned to take me _ apart _in such a short period of time but you do it - you make me come so damn fast I feel like a virgin with a hairtrigger. I want to f….” He tried to say ‘fuck your mouth,’ his mouth formed around the word but nothing came out. 

“I want to come in your mouth, Tony…” he tried, and that was easier.

Except for one problem - he was currently being swallowed to the root and Tony was already doing that THING with his tongue and dammit he was just going to come embarrassingly fast again.

“Ah hell….. stop stop stop…” he moaned, pulling away again. Tony let him go of course, Tony never argued about these things, but still Peter closed his eyes in embarrassment.

“I’m sorry Tone I just can’t once I get in your mouth it’s just over,” Peter whimpered, hating the way his voice suddenly sounded so high and so …..young. “I don’t want to stop,” he said, opening his eyes and looking down at the startled man. “ I’m sorry, I just can’t be ** _in _ **your mouth just yet….I don’t know maybe….”

Tony didn’t speak. He just reached up silently and took Peter’s shaft in his hands, held it delicately with just three fingers, and began rubbing the bulb against his lips gently.

“Oh yeah...yeah….Tony you’re a genius,” Peter whispered.

Straightening his back, taking another deep breath, he took his cock in hand and Tony’s chin in the other. Tenderly he traced Tony’s open mouth with the tip of his cock, teasing. It seemed far more gentle than lewd, and while he had done it for the sole purpose of having more time to speak, now he couldn’t speak at all.

_ Dammit Tony, you make this hard, how I am supposed to think when you make me so crazy? _

That was good, actually, so he said it out loud.

“Dammit Tony, you make this hard, you make **me **so hard, how I am supposed to think when ….god your mouth is so sweet and I can’t……oh...”

He gave up. He was now far too obsessed with tracing Tony’s mouth with the tip of his cock over and over again. He had never done anything like this before, never even thought of it, and the tenderness and intimacy of the action (not to mention how beautiful Tony looked with his mouth open, patiently waiting) was overwhelming.

Tony moved again. Peter wouldn’t have stopped voluntarily but Tony reached for him so gently that he allowed it.

Tony moved Peter’s hand away from his cock, then licked a stripe using the flat of his tongue, from the bottom of the shaft to the tip, but when he got to the tip he gently pushed Peter’s leg, and therefore Peter, away. 

He looked up through dark lashes at Peter’s face to see if he got it, then repeated the motion again.

“Oh……._ fuck _ Tony…..”

There were a few more moments of silence as they repeated this movement over and over. Tony starting at the base of his cock and licking his way up, Peter moving away at the last moment to keep Tony from the tip. He stared down in amazement as he teased Tony’s mouth, knowing Tony had just taught him how.

That, too, sounded good in his head, so he used it.

“You love to tease...you love to tease me when I’m desperate for you. You’ve teased my…” He took a deep breath and tried again. Whispering in the quiet room made it easier. “You’ve teased my hole, you’ve teased it with your fingers...and your tongue... and your cock ...until I was begging you for it, _begging_ for you to fuck me. Now you know how it feels….no no no….he smiled as Tony tried to move forward and remembered he was supposed to be using his superior strength to keep him in place. “You can wait. You know as soon as you get this it will be all over for me. _ God _ you make me feel like such a kid. You know I can’t last long once you get ahold of me….oh ** _fuck _ ** _ Tony _...”

Peter took another deep breath. This was good... good?? This was _ amazing _ . This was _ miraculous _. They were taking their time and they were communicating (after a fashion) and Tony was showing him beautiful things he had never dreamed of.

Dammit, he was going to show this man his gratitude by opening his mouth and making words come out.

“You tease me with your fingers and just the tip of your cock until I’m just crying for it, but you know I’m not good at asking for things out loud…” He chuckled, moving completely away from Tony’s mouth and running his thumb over Tony’s mouth. “I guess some day you’ll tease me enough I’ll _ learn _how to ask for it. But you’ll ask for it, won’t you Tony? You’ve been begging me for it all day. You’ve been asking me to…you want...”

Dammit, he had _ practiced _ this! He had watched the video Tony sent him three times - he had spent time researching on A03 for this! Had actually _ said _ the words ** _out loud_ ** on the way to the Tower, just for this moment! 

But words like “dirty little cockslut” and “filthy whore” just didn’t seem to _ apply _ now, not when Tony looked so beautiful to him, so vulnerable, so honest. Peter’s lover tended to walk around with a mask on top of another mask on top of another mask (occasionally armored by a Vibranium mask) but in this place, in this moment, Peter knew he was seeing something the world never got to see. He wondered if anyone else got to see it. Anyone at all.

He decided he was an idiot, this was ** _Tony Stark_ ** we were talking about, and tried his level best to say his lines.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

Then he looked back down at Tony and decided: fuck his lines.

“Do you want me to come in your mouth, Tony?” he gasped, realizing that as long as he just said THE TRUTH he would be ok. “I know you want to taste my come, god I know that. I know you’ve been dreaming about it. Do you want to feel it in the back of your throat? Do you want swallow me? You’ve been waiting for it all week, I know you’ve been waiting . Do you want to make me speechless and moaning and babbling like an idiot? Do you want to make me come so fast all I can do is apologize? Do you want this, Tony?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me what you want.”

“I want you to come in my mouth.”

“Why?”

“I need to taste you again.”

Peter put both hands on Tony’s face and ran two thumbs over his parted lips.

“As soon as I do, as soon as you open your mouth and I put it in, it’s over. You won’t hear anything else from me after that. Are you ready?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

He only said it to prolong the moment. This had been beautiful, and it was about to be over.

“Yes….Mr. Parker.”

Peter’s eyes went wide. He was expecting ‘baby’ or ‘babyboy’ or, God help him, “Little Petie,” and term he ** _despised_ ** (but why did it turn him on so much?) or, heaven forbid, ‘Sir.’

“_ Mr _ . Parker?” he said, grinning, looking down at Tony’s face. “Oh baby, I _ like _ that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You KNOW you can't give any more kudos - but please let us know you are still reading.
> 
> Know what makes us dance with joy? (And inspires us to write more?)
> 
> When you cut and paste your favorite line.....


	4. Drinking So Fast You Don't Get To Taste

_ * * * * * * * * * * * * * _

_ “Baby?” _

_ Tony blinked slowly at Peter’s response, not certain if he liked it. He didn’t want to hope that Peter would say it again so he could find out. _

_ Because liking it seemed to be winning the debate. _

_ The hope of finding out for certain made his, “Please, Mr. Parker?” just a little too eager. At least Peter would misinterpret the reason for that eagerness. _

_ He had been made to wait, and waiting was making his mouth ache. Still, he was loving _ everything _ about Peter being in control, and even now he was able to close his eyes, lift his head, and wait with an open mouth. _

_ Not for long of course - but Peter interrupted his whimpered “Please?” by feeding him his cock. _

_ Peter was sweet, and the waiting had made it so much sweeter when he finally felt Peter in his mouth. He knew all the ways to make Peter feel good. How to make him come fast, how to make him come slow-er. Not slow because at the stage they were at, slow wasn’t going to be an option. Tony wanted. He craved. He desired. He needed. And not just to feel the weight of Peter’s cock in his mouth. Not just to have the taste of Peter’s come in the back of this throat. That wasn’t enough. _

_ He also has to be the best fucking blowjob Peter ever had. _

_ Peter had teased his lips with the smooth head of his cock and he wanted that sensation again, only moreso. Tony ran the flat of his tongue around the head. Once he’d made a circuit (or two… it really did feel wonderful) he let his tongue dance across it, teasing at the ridge. _

_ He was trying to make it last even as he struggled against his desire to simply swallow the boy and finish him that way. _

God _ he really was an addict. He joked about it to cover it up, but he had been treating Peter’s cock the same way he had treated alcohol during his second masters years. During dry times he thought about nothing but the taste of a good scotch, but when the scotch came he drank it so fast he tasted nothing at all. _

_ Just as Peter had said, more than once, _ ** _this _ ** _ always went too fast, and Tony only had himself to blame. But tonight Peter had slowed down the pace, and now he could too. Maybe. Maybe this time he could satisfy both of them. _

_ But he could only hold back so long. He took Peter into his mouth, sealing his lips on his shaft just below the ridge. Then he took more as he sucked. He wished Peter would put his hands on his head or especially do that forbidden thing of tangling his fingers in his hair. But it felt so good when Peter hit the back of his mouth… He felt the tightness there. Wanted to feel it again, so he pulled back and sucked Peter in again. Each time he did it harder and faster. If Peter couldn’t bring himself to fuck his face, he could do it for him. Show him how good it felt. Pushing in a little more each time, a little faster, a little harder, as Tony swallowed, drawing him in. _

_ He couldn’t take the tease anymore and the next time he swallowed and Peter slid easily down his throat and Tony’s face was pressed against his groin, He pulled back just enough to breathe, to take in the scent of the boy. Groaning, he brought Peter down as far as he could. When he let off, he used his tongue along the way, pressing up along the underside, almost pulling off so he could tease around the ridge. He knew where Peter was the most sensitive and he found those places, only taking the boy in as far as he needed to in order to hear the sounds Peter made when he was almost ready to come. Then in one fast, fluid motion, he brought Peter all the way into his throat. That was almost it. He felt Peter’s muscles tighten but he was just teetering on the edge…… _

_ * * * * * * * * * * * * * _

“Give me your hands, put your hands in my hands,” Peter whimpered as he felt it coming on, ready to hit him like a speeding train. Holding Tony’s hands in his own, he let his head fall back. He gave in.

_ * * * * * * * * * * * * * _

_ When Tony took him down for what he knew would be the last time, he pulled an old trick. He kept his tongue flat and stretched out so that when he got the boy all the way down, he was able to slide his tongue out and tease at Peter’s balls while he tightened his throat, swallowing hard, massaging his cock with his throat. _

_ While holding Peter’s hands was amazing, like a little piece of heaven, when Peter came Tony dropped them and took the boy firmly by the ass and held him tight. _

_ Being ordered what to do with his hands was hot, he wouldn’t deny that, but he was an artist and no amount of rules were going to stop him from practicing his art. _

_ Less than an hour before Tony had been standing in Tower waiting for a college student with a backpack full of homework to swing in (when he was able) thinking “How the mighty have fallen.” _

_ Down on his knees now, holding Peter’s softening cock in his mouth, tasting that sweet starlight in the back of his throat, keeping his hands firmly on the boy’s ass as he kept his mouth in place for as long as he was allowed, Tony thought….”at least I’m falling up.” _

_Despite all his attempts, Peter still spoke to him when he was on his knees the same way Peter spoke to him when he was standing up (or in any position, really.)_ _Many men in that position felt the inherent need to say something insulting, something to establish their superiority to the man already kneeling on the floor, as if the man kneeling on the floor could humble himself any more. But until tonight Peter had been ALL compliments and words of gratitude and breathless praise. (And “Baby?” Did he _like _being called “Baby?”) And even tonight Peter’s attempts at crudity were spoken in a companionable, compassionate voice. Peter’s hands on his head, his hair, even sometimes down his back (when the boy decided to bend himself into strange pretzel shapes in need of more contact) were so unspeakably tender._

_ He had fallen far, but the place he had fallen into was so good. _

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

When Peter finally began to rouse Tony stood up with as much dignity as he could muster.

That should have been a problem – he had literally been on his knees saying “Mr. Parker” and begging, something they had never actually done. But soon as he stood, he had armsful of Peter who wasn’t even looking at his face.

That was good. That made it easier to regain control of himself. He wrapped his strong arms around the boy and held him tight.

When Peter finally moved away he kissed the boy on the side of his face and grinned.

“So, how was your day, dear?”

  
  


* * * * * * * * * * * *

They moved, as they always did, to the sofa after that, for their version of “Netflix and Chill” until their dinner arrived. Peter tacked his Complex Variables homework while Tony found him a documentary on Da Vinci and rubbed his feet. A good hour passed and Peter was actually able to get a good chunk out of his Differentials homework before the foot rub turned into a thigh-rub, as Peter knew it would.

But even that lasted forever. Peter was beaming inwardly – normally Tony would be nuzzling around already looking for another mouthful. It really was about dinnertime… just about the time the AI was announcing the arrival of the food… when Peter found himself closing his laptop.

And this was GOOD. 

This was PROGRESS.

Peter had never, not even once, made this offer to Tony before. He was never _able_ to offer, he had only been able to say ‘yes’ or ‘no.’ (And he _always_ said yes. Always. Even when he sometimes wanted to say ‘Christ, Tony, ** _again_ ** ?!’ But he never did. He was a superhero. And besides, who in their right mind would turn down a blowjob from _ Tony Stark _?)

But here he was, setting aside his laptop and motioning for Tony to come closer before he lowered his boxers.

“The food’s here,” Tony murmured. He eyed Peter hungrily, but this time, he didn’t look desperate.

Peter smiled. Up ‘till now he had tolerated Tony’s hyperfixation on this particular sex-act with as much grace and patience as he could muster. But now, all he felt was pride. His experiment in the atrium worked. Tony looked sated, for the first time in…well….ever. He felt like the man deserved a reward.

“I know you need this first.”

“But your pad thai will get cold.”

Peter laughed. “I thought the plan would be to eat cold Thai food ** _all weekend_ **, I’ll live."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You won't be allowed to leave kudos again - but you could always *comment.*
> 
> The comments inspire more writing!
> 
> Commenting is SO easy. Just copy and paste your favorite line. Von and I celebrate those with champagne.


	5. Dinner After

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was a dream come true. For weeks, forever really, he had been wanting to have these kinds of conversations, conversations about sex, conversations about what they wanted. And now he had it, the thing he wanted most of all, and he was speechless.

They managed to have an actual conversation over dinner, which made Peter even more relieved. He had told Tony he had ulterior motives when he agreed to the three-day-sexathon, this breaking-only-for-food-and-homework weekend. Tony agreed that talking between sex was a possibility, and Peter was happy to find out that it was true. It was part of Tony’s “**Be nice to him too” **promise and it seemed to be working out very well. They mostly talked tech, of course, because they always talked tech, but when the conversation paused Peter pushed forward on a more sensitive topic.

“So…that vid you sent me. I want you to know, I’m tried…in the other room I really did….try to say all those things, but….”

“Say what things?”

“The _things_, Tony. That the men say.”

Tony’s blank look could have been disinterest, or actual lack of information, or just the leadup to a joke, which made Peter frustrated.

“The vid that you sent me? On my phone? During my Art Appreciation class by the way? Of the men and the …. things they say to the guy in handcuffs on his knees?”

Tony smirked which did not help Peter’s mood at all. “Art Appreciation? Well it was art, did you appreciate it?”

“Well I’m glad I didn’t get it during a film class because the script _sucked_.”

“**_Oh my god kid_**, the script was not the point.”

“Good. Because that screenwriter needed to be _fired_.”

“I don’t think….there was an….actual….”

“Because it was beyond awful. I mean I watched it for free and I wanted my money back.”

“They’re improvising, mostly….”

“Uh…hello?” Peter said, raising his chopsticks. “BIG fan of improvisational theater here. I know freshmen who do better improv theater than that….”

Tony actually burst out laughing. “Kid you’re killing me.”

“I’m telling you the writer needed to lose his job. It was so repetitive…”

Tony laughed so suddenly he choked on his Evil Jungle Chicken. “_Repetitive_?! Are you listening to yourself?”

Peter sat back and sipped his wine, enjoying watching Tony cracking up until he couldn’t speak, enjoying knowing the comedian could be made to laugh too. 

When Tony calmed down enough Peter took a deep breath and tried to broach the actual subject. 

“But as much as I appreciated the instructional video, I just … can’t get excited about _that_ particular sex act – talking dirty and namecalling. I tried tonight, I really did. I mean I _practiced_ my lines all the way here but – Tony…

“Tony, why would you call a person a ‘slut’ when they’re enjoying the sex that agreed to do together? I mean, a person isn’t a ‘slut’ because they enjoy sex, that’s just a person who enjoys sex. No, I’m serious….” Peter tried to push through Tony’s eye rolling and aggravated moans. Dammit he had something to say and he was going to make himself say it. “I’m **not** just being PC here…

_**“You don’t look ‘filthy or ‘little’ to me when you’re on your knees in front of me, Tony,”**_ he managed to say above Tony’s objections.

“You look like an angel.”

And there, for just one moment, he had it. Tony’s full attention. Tony’s deadly, piercing eyes, trained completely on him, analyzing his statement for sincerity, processing the information. It made Peter’s heart skip and beat and made his knees weak.

Then the moment was over and Tony opened his mouth.

Peter closed his eyes and braced himself for the dirty joke (or crude innuendo or single entendre or whatever Tony would use to brush off this revelation.) He took a deep breath and waited for it.

Then he looked up in surprise. The room was silent, and Tony hadn’t spoken. In fact the man looked surprised, as if he had been punched.

“Well….you could…..certainly say….._that_…..during….I mean I wouldn’t stop you. 

"I _couldn’t_ stop you. 

"My mouth would be full.”

Peter broke into a huge grin. Then he ducked his head and took a long drink of wine. Hopefully Tony would assume he was laughing at the joke. 

“Kid you don’t….no one is expecting you to…..” Tony was looking away from him, looking decidedly uncomfortable, which meant he was about to say something particularly honest. Peter held his breath.

“I wasn’t expecting you to say _those specific_ things. Like I told you, the script wasn’t important.”

“So…if you didn’t want me to talk like that to you then why did you send me the vid?” Peter said now, feeling fully confident. This was going _so_ much better than he had hopped. “I mean you literally named the video ‘Want.’ I _certainly_ hope you don’t think you’re going to talk that way to _me_.”

“Oh _God_ kid,” Tony said, eyes fully rolling. But then he suddenly stopped talking and just smiled. He put gathered up his plate and utensils and took Peter’s as well. With a grin he dumped them in the sink.

“What?” Peter asked, but Tony just kept smiling as he poured Peter another glass of wine. 

He didn’t speak until he had one hand on Peter’s chair, the other hand on the table, and was leaning over to whisper in Peter’s ear.

“I didn’t send you the ‘Want’ video because I wanted you to listen to the men _talk_, Little Petie. I sent it to you because I wanted you to _fuck my face_.”

Tony chuckled low in his ear as Peter’s breath caught and his eyes went wide.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

He was hoping that was Tony’s exit line – Tony enjoyed making those kinds of statements and leaving the room – but no, the man was just kissing him on the ear and so he had to say something.

“Tony I don’t….I don’t…..think I’m ready for that…..”

“Oh no, no, babyboy, you came _so_ close. When you held my hands in yours – very hot by the way – and then you just closed your eyes, tipped your head back and you forgot. About. Everything.”

Peter closed his eyes and waited for the room to stop spinning. This was a dream come true. For weeks, forever really, he had been wanting to sit down with his lover (who was always so _damn **silent**_ in bed) and have these kinds of conversations, conversations about sex, conversations about what they wanted. And now he had it, the thing he wanted most of all, and he was speechless.

He took a long drink from his glass.

“So…what I’m hearing you say is…you were watching me?”

“Yes,” Tony grinned against his ear.

“So….I need to blindfold you next time?”

“Oh _baby_….”

Tony kissed him on the ear and left the room. Moments later a new Da Vinci documentary was playing in the other room, and Peter found he could breathe again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is one more chapter - Peter is asleep, and now Tony needs to reflect on the evening's events.
> 
> Actually Tony needs a drink.
> 
> You made it this far - why not leave a comment?


	6. The Addict Has Regrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony drained the glass and left it behind. No tinkering, he was going right back to bed to hold his sleeping lover in his arms. He was dedicated to self-destruction, and, well, this self-destruction was going to be epic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you were wondering, NO, Tony REALLY has no idea what 'vid' Peter is talking about.

Tony took Peter to bed, of course. He performed well. He could tell – Peter was very expressive with signs, moans, gasps and little yelps and a mouth that seemed to constantly be trying to form words, but failing.

Tony was silent, of course.

Silence was safer.

It was an odd thought he had after it was over, after they had showered and were snuggled in to sleep. “Silence is safer,” his brain told him. 

“If you opened your mouth, gods only know what you might say.”

Because he was getting it. It was only the first night of their Three-Day-Weekend-Only-Breaking-For-Food-And-Homework-Sexathon, but it was the first night that he Got It.

“If you opened your mouth, gods only know what you might say.” 

Laying in his bed, freshly showered, holding a freshly showered (and blissfully nude) Peter asleep in his arms, he got it. He was willing to say anything, _absolutely anything_, to keep this boy with him. Including proposing marriage.

He didn’t get up, right at that moment. He lay awake, the boy snuggled into the crook of his arm, his own heart pounding. Peter was dozing but not quite asleep yet. He had a fistful of Tony’s pajama shirt in his hand, held close to his face like a child. He started and twitched, sometimes mumbled, sometimes argued, in his sleep. Tony watched in fascination, waiting, timing his escape.

Finally he couldn’t take it any longer – he worked his pajama shirt out of Peter’s hand and slipped away, mumbling something about tinkering in the lab. Peter wouldn’t be surprised if he woke up alone.

Tony often made his escape this way.

Of course on those occasions he had _really_ gone to tinker in the lab, tonight he went straight to the liquor cabinet. 

He poured himself a glass, then picked the whole bottle and took it with him. He sat alone next to the window and glared down upon New York City, and drank.

“Drinking alone is a sign of alcoholism,” he joked to himself in the silent room. He didn’t laugh at the joke.

He tried to think about something, anything, to get his mind off what he was thinking about now. He tried thinking about additions to Peter's suit, or future suits, but his mind wouldn't stay on tech. As per usual, his mind was just on Peter.

His brain went back to his regular screensaver fantasy, the one he had been going over obsessively lately, which mainly consisted of various sex acts he had experience with that he could introduce to Peter in hopes to keep his interest. Now that they actually had _time_ for said sex acts Tony was beginning to realize the point was moot. Tony had made it clear he was ready to offer anything, but Peter had also made it clear that he was only interested in the standard – Tony on top, Tony inside him, Tony’s head wrapped up in his arms (not that Tony was complaining. The noises that boy made were so _sweet_.) 

Which produced an entirely new problem – if Peter wasn’t interested in new and exciting sexacts, what the _hell _did Tony _have to offer_? (Tony had SUGGESTED **_one_** specific other thing, but Peter had given him a hard pass. Even faced with 12 dozen roses, Peter had _still_ turned down topping him. That hurt, but then again, who was _Tony_ to demand anything? He was demanding enough as it is.)

“You’re screwed, Stark. You’re so fucking screwed,” Tony mumbled to himself. He glared at the amber liquid in his hand.

He was so definitely, thoroughly and completely screwed.

Since the moment he first felt Peter’s cock growing hard in his mouth, he knew.

All the signs were there. The obsessive circular thinking. The dreams. The tension that began to build in his body when he realized how long it had been since had felt it, and how long it had been since he would feel it again. And the reaching, the constant reaching for the thing that would numb the need/kill the time until he _could_ taste it again.

But illicit substances were out – Peter disapproved. (Besides, he was an Avenger now, whatever that meant.) As were other cocks- he had _promised_ Peter that it was the “person attached to the cock” that he wanted, and he was loath to go back on that promise now.

“I could go down on a different boy every day of the week and never see the same guy twice and the world would never know.“ he had bragged absurdly on the day he gave Peter the roses, and he wished to god he hadn’t, because what he had voiced it outloud he realized how easy it would be. They wouldn’t be Peter, of course, just like alcohol wasn’t cocaine, but one thing could ease the tension until he arrived at the other thing. But of course he had BRAGGED THAT HE WOULDN'T DO THAT so now, of naturally, he couldn’t. 

Besides keeping cocks around at work to suck on during the day would just be admitting he had a problem, and he most certainly was not prepared to admit he had a problem.

_But he most certainly had a problem._

He had, after all these years, managed to develop a sex addiction.

And Peter – ah god – Peter was so incredibly accommodating. Actually changing his schedule and altering his daily life to accommodate Tony’s absurd demands. The boy was flattered by the attention – for now – but it seemed obvious that he wasn’t going to be flattered forever. He had already implied that Tony was more interested in the bodypart than the person and while the 12 dozen roses had seemed to work for the moment...

...the time would come where there wouldn’t be enough roses to keep the boy around. 

No matter what he did, this was doomed to failure.

He drained the glass and poured himself another, brooding. 

Why was Peter so much different than any other man? 

With other men there had always been a time before the fear came – a limerence period with nothing but peace and the joy of new discovery. Before the fears came. Before the realization that one (usually the other guy) wanted a long haul and the other (usually Tony) very much did not. But with Peter that limerence never happened – this had STARTED in fear. STARTED knowing this was all painfully temporary, a momentary cease-fire in the verbal war, a tender cease-fire that was just long enough to remove clothing and exchange bodily fluids. 

Granted, the cease-fire had been extended, far longer than Tony had ever imagined, but that didn’t make it anything other than it was. Every minute, every day, every sexual encounter was obviously the last. That was the way cease-fires worked. There was no lasting treaty, here. 

Someday, Peter was going to realize he had accidentally fallen into bed with Tony Stark and run for his life.

“Goddammit,” Tony said out loud to his drink. His drink didn’t answer. He lived so much in fear of that day he was _almost_ eager for it to happen. When it happened, it would be over, and he could recover.

Which was different from any of his other addictions – the drugs, the alcohol, the suits. Each one seemed like they could easily last forever – actually it had appeared the suits WOULD have lasted forever – and maybe they would have, if it weren’t for Peter.

Peter.

Peter, who tasted like **_starlight_**. (Jesus Christ, had he really _said that out loud_? This is why talking during sex was a bad idea.) That had been one secret he was ready to take to his grave, but dammit the boy didn’t taste normal at all. The New York fans like to claim he had ‘radioactive blood’ and Tony could attest that other bodily fluids might be radioactive too. Christ he was probably giving himself cancer.

“Not that it matters,” he muttered to himself as he downed his drink and started in on its brother. "Who has time to get cancer with the Big Blue From Space destined to arrive on earth at any minute? Fuck cancer."

He really was addicted to pain, just like his ex-wife said. 

And the kid was catching on, that much was certain. Had pointed out that if Tony really wanted to taste him he could catch the taste on his tongue, not the back of his throat. Smart kid. But the kid didn’t know that the alcoholic can dream all day about the taste of scotch, only to chug it back too fast to enjoy the taste. 

And Tony, the addict, could NOT get Peter into his mouth without taking the boy down into his throat.

“Because no one will _ever_ blow you the way I do, kid,” he muttered to himself, and that much, at least, was true. He had that, at least, as a decent argument for when the kid decided to bail. At least, as long as the kid never got around to asking _why_ Tony was so damn good at this…..

“I just won’t answer,” he argued with himself. He had gotten GOOD at not talking. He was amazed at how easily it had been for Peter to shut him when no one else could, of course, he never needed anybody the way he needed Peter. And if he wanted to be with Peter, he had to keep his damn mouth shut.

“Except when I’m sucking Babyboy’s cock,” he joked humorously.

_Or when you’re texting._

Tony frowned at the internal voice. Peter didn’t complain about the texting (except when he did.) And Tony had been sparse with the texting, using it only when he flat out couldn’t take it anymore. When he wasn’t desperate, he left Peter alone, knowing how busy the boy was. Even when Peter texted him about mundane things Tony kept his replies short and to the point – Peter was an extremely busy boy, and Tony was proud he could give Peter space.

But then again…

Growling in frustration Tony stood up to find his phone. He wobbled a bit (wait how many drinks did he just have?) but found it fairly quickly. With shaking hands he brought up Peter’s screen…..

**What ya doin’ pretty baby?**

**Letting those pretty college boys suck your sweet cock?**

**I can part your physics. ; )**

**What do you expect from me? I need my fix.**

Beads of sweat formed on his forehead and Tony read the texts like a blackout drunk read his crimes in the daily paper. ‘_Letting those pretty college boys suck your sweet cock?’ _No wonder the boy was in a constant state of irritated at him. _‘I can part your physics’ _was embarrassingly sophomoric but at least _that_ was on purpose. He often aimed for the embarrassingly sophomoric. Tony was safe as long as Peter was only rolling his eyes. It was when Peter was angry and shouting that his chest began to tighten.

Tony moaned as he read the texts. He knew (and hated) the man who had sent them. Normally Tony would think and rethink, type and retype, a single text over and over again until the majority of his texts would never see the light of day. Then (just like an alcoholic deliberately getting blackout drunk) he just hitting send as fast as he could type. But wasn’t that typical Tony? Pushing people away before they could leave him. Before they could run from him.

He started scrolling backward, looking and the other texts, the careful texts, the ones he had had stressed appropriately for. 

Then he found the video and his blood ran cold.

_This_ was what Peter had been talking about (Tony had hoped Peter was confusing his _own_ porn with a text sent from Tony.) He had sent that video, one he had entitled ‘Want’ and dammit, dammitdammitdammit, he _had sent it to the boy?! _Jesus Christ in heaven saints preserve us. He had hit send on accident. He threw the phone across the room and downed another drink.

This could have been it. This could have been the night he said the wrong thing (_sent_ the wrong thing, dear gods above) and sent Peter running.

“I really am addicted to self-destruction.” He couldn’t drink much more. Peter was staying the weekend and he had to be functional in the morning. Still he looked hard into the glass, talking to himself. “Addicted to pain, just like Pepper said. Pushing them away before I have to open up to them…..no.”

But that wasn’t right. It wasn’t that he pushed people away before he had to talk to them, he pushed them away before they had the chance to betray him, before they had to chance to lie to him, before they had the chance to murder him because he was endangering the company by announcing they wouldn’t sell weapons anymore.

But not Peter.

No, he was just trying to push Peter away before he had to open up to him. That was all.

"That's a dirty **_lie_**, I'm just waiting for the boy to bail," he argued out loud. He had actually be _relaxing_ with the boy now, going for _hours_ on end without being reminded that this was all temporary. At least it was easier than before - in those early days Tony had been on edge _constantly_, the jokes coming in a steady stream. Because every time Peter looked serious Tony's gut clenched. Tony prepared himself for the blow. Because it was bound to happen - now that the kid had scratched the itch. At _some_ point the kid was going to make a serious face. At _some_ point Peter was going to start a sentence with "_Tony I have to tell you something_," and the next words would feel like shrapnel to the chest. 

And so the comedy routine never stopped. He was cracking jokes - and when he ran out of jokes he just pushed the boy to the wall in a public place and blew him.

He was so ready for that "I Have To Tell You Something" sentence he had actually found himself holding his hands up in a defensive position _over the dinner table. _ (He cringed at the memory. Then he poured himself another drink.) 

"Tony I have to tell you something," the boy had said, setting his chopsticks down and looking sad. Tony's heart started pounding and he found himself, ridiculously, ready to start shouting "But I bought you _all_ this _Thai food_!!" But as Tony was choking on his objections Peter was staring hard at his dumplings and confessing, and then apologizing, for taking an extra intercession class. "I know we'd said that we might use Spring Break for you to take me to Paris but I've been auditing this class and it is _really_ ridiculously easy, like too-easy-to-pay-attention-to-easy, so my plan is to knock it out over intercession - but that means no Paris - sorry - are you pissed?" he mumbled before looking up.

And there was Tony, heart hammering, hands up to blast the enemy with a power surge.

He tried to cover.

"Too much, too much," he said stupidly, gesturing with those raised hands as if it were a perfectly normal thing to do. "You worry _too much_ Prudence. How now, thou should-st have been name-ed 'Worrywort.'"

It was a lame cover. 

But that was the _beauty_ of pushing the boy away, he pointed out to himself. It would work either way. He could push the boy away before he bails....or he could push the boy away before he had to confess how badly it was going to hurt when Peter bailed. 

And when Peter bailed - ah that pain would put all other self-destruction to shame.

“A toast to self-destruction,” he said, pouring himself the last drink.

It was a form of pain too, he mused, this _holding on_ to the razor’s edge of Peter leaving, standing right there at the edge of agony and heartbreak. What if he just….ignored it? What if he just pretended like _it wasn’t going to happen?_ Now **_that_** would be REAL pain. That would be REAL self-destruction. 

**_That_** would be self-destruction at it’s finest. 

Peter had seen him without his armor. Peter had seen him without his meticulous shave and without his fine suit. Peter had made a demand and that’s why Peter had seen him without his biting wit, his constant humor. Without that, he was just Tony. And Just Tony had never been good enough for anyone. Peter wasn’t catching on, not yet, but…

“…at least I am falling up.” He would never deny that it was **_sweet_** here, this razor’s edge of heartbreak. Yes, obviously, that would make it all the more unbearably painful when Peter wised up and left, but until then?

Tony drained the glass and left it behind. No tinkering, he was going right back to bed to hold his sleeping lover in his arms. After all, the Big Blue from Space could land on earth any day. And what was he going to do until then? He was Tony Stark. He was dedicated to self-destruction.

And, well, _this_ self-destruction was going to be _epic_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You've made it this far, and you KNOW you can't leave kudos again, so why not leave a comment?
> 
> Comments are easy - just cut and paste your favorite line.
> 
> (Some comments have actually made fics LONGER, just saying)

**Author's Note:**

> This work of fiction WOULD NOT BE POSSIBLE without the priceless contribution of von_gelmini. 
> 
> You'll find out why soon.


End file.
